Famine
by See That Guy
Summary: "It was coming upon my twenty-first birthday when the famine struck the Capital Wasteland. I should mention that it was the torture of an empty stomach that led me to do what I did." The Lone Wanderer encounters the third Horseman of the Apocalypse. Halloween one-shot.


****NOTA BENE: The "T" rating is pushing this one, but it's your halloween one-shot. If you don't want to read the most f**ked up thing I think I've ever written, go away.**

**Still here? Happy early halloween.**

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**Famine**

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**"The full person can not understand the needs of the hungry."**

**-Irish Proverb**

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It was coming upon my twenty-first birthday when the famine struck the Capital Wasteland. I should mention that it was the torture of an empty stomach that led me to do what I did.

On the worst days before the famine, a desperately hungry person could swallow a half-full bag of chips or other old-world goodies that might be lying around. The trick was to always have water with you. It wasn't necessary so you could avoid the taste- when you're starving, anything edible is a delicacy. No, the water was only necessary to help the digestion of whatever you found, as most pre-war foods that have survived this long have done so only because of the high salt content and preservatives.

As I recall, a few discarded bags of chips were able to keep us going for a week or two. The famine resulted from brahmin endangerment. They were typically the source of meat throughout the wasteland. When they started to die of an unknown illness, it effected the wastelanders greatly.

The scientists of Rivet City set to work on figuring out a way to cure this illness, or at least vaccinate the remaining brahmin (most were housed at Rivet City at this point, so they could experiment until they found a solution). Until then, all survivors had to rely on their own emergency supplies. The scientists believed they'd have the solution within a week.

Most emergency supplies ran out by the third week. Dogmeat and I managed to survive off old world scraps for the next fortnight once our supplies ran out.

I should explain something about Dogmeat: He, being my only companion in the wasteland, was also my only real friend. I found him in a scrapyard being attacked by raiders, assisted him in dispatching the trio, and he has been by my side ever since.

Ours was a strong friendship. He'd guard me with his life if he had to, and likewise, I'd watch his back if he became reckless.

Even when the famine hit and we began to starve, we always did what we could to reassure each other that it would work out alright. Sometimes I'd be able to trick myself or trick Dogmeat by drinking large quantities of water, or if I had solid food to eat, turning it into soup and watering it. These actions were poor. Giving myself the illusion of being full after drinking a lot of water only came back to bite me in the long run. Likewise, the same happened to Dogmeat.

It seemed like, after the illusion of being full left us, we were much hungrier. It was almost as if our stomachs figured out our trickery and punished us with hunger pangs. Eventually, we were so far into starvation, that we didn't feel hunger much anymore. We simply grew progressively weaker, as did all members of the wasteland.

Old-world snacks became rare, as most people went into the wasteland in search of them. The famine struck even the mightiest beasts: Yao Guai, Deathclaws, Radscorpions, even Super Mutants... a human may have actually walked by one of the beasts without being attacked. Nobody had energy to fight, not even the mutated monsters of the world.

Farming seemed like a viable alternative to meats, and it would have been, had the same thing plaguing the brahmin of the wasteland not targeted plant life, too.

More than one man resorted to cannibalism. Some even tried to kill Yao Guai and Deathclaws, but they would typically be killed themselves, and even when successful, the meat from even those beasts was now too thin to serve much good.

These conditions broke everybody, even me. Even I admit being broken by starvation. Three Dog's "Last, best hope of humanity" was no better off than anyone else.

After our luck ran out, Dogmeat and I went into the wasteland more often than usual. Our friendship was never hurt by the famine. We'd get at odds with each other from time to time as we sometimes did beforehand. That's the worst our friendship suffered.

However, after a week past without a crumb of food, I started seeing Dogmeat as something else. His was a beautiful coat, and he was the nicest dog to those who were square with him while managing to be quick enough to avoid hostile bullets and deadly enough to punish those that shot them.

As our conditions deteriorated, I saw Dogmeat as something else. He was a beautiful dog, sure, but... I nearly salivated at his name. I didn't even mind the thought of eating dog at the time. All I heard in his name was "Meat". "Meat", "Meat", "Meat".

I shook my head while I stared at him. He eyed the wasteland beyond us, not noticing the hunger in my eyes. In my arms was a shotgun. I could...

I shook my head around madly again. What was I thinking? I can't eat Dogmeat. He's like me: skin and bone. There is nothing on him to eat.

I'd shrugged off my brief moment of instability and continued with him my search for food. For all I knew, he came to the same conclusion about me: maybe he wanted to eat me, but killing me would yield no real benefit. I had no meat on my bones either.

So, I thought that was the end of it. Dogmeat and I continued the rest of that day and the majority of the night searching for food. No luck.

When we finally did bed down for the night, I found myself thinking of his name again. Dogmeat...

His name... it suggested food. It was nourishment; tantilizingly close... I could nearly taste meat.

Once again, rationality trumped my irrational thoughts. Dogmeat hadn't gained any more fat on his bones than I did in the past day.

These thoughts plagued me until halfway through the next week. Now, Dogmeat and I spent most of our time in camp. The radio was always on, waiting for Three Dog to mention that the diseases plaguing food sources in our home was no more. Instead, he put his voice on a loop:

"There is no new update on the research into whatever is killing off the brahmin. As soon as I hear anything, I will remove this loop and tell you immediately... _this message repeats:_ There is no new..."

At the halfway point of that week, thoughts of dining continuously invaded my mind. Dogmeat, at this point, would not put up a struggle. All it would take is a blast in the back of the skull from the shotgun. The only thing keeping me from acting on my survival instincts was the idea that Dogmeat was too thin to offer any meat to me.

At around three in the afternoon, I came to a conclusion: Dogmeat may not have an inch of fat on him, but like I said: _anything_ remotely edible is a delicacy. His internal organs would suffice for now.

I stared at him. He lay before me, staring out at the wasteland still, practically willing food to appear. My shotgun was just next to me. My hand rested on it.

Perhaps, if my hand hadn't been resting on the weapon already, I may not have done what I ended up doing. In as swift a move as I could muster, I held the weapon for a few moments. Under a different circumstance, that particular action could have been cause for concern to Meat. However, I'd been hearing things the past two days, and my hands were typically holding the shotgun. Meat didn't acknowledge me. Apathy was his last mistake.

The shotgun blast tore through the back of his head and matter littered the ground before him as he slumped forward, and began his death throes. I scooped up one of his eyeballs and threw it into my mouth (eyeballs in some animals are considered a delicacy, but I didn't have a goat, so Meat's eye would have to do), and while I chewed it ravenously, I took my knife to his body and opened him up.

I cooked his heart and most of the liver, but I ate raw a part of it. I even sampled his lung, and I would've eaten more of the brain had I not nearly choked myself on a pellet from the shotgun blast.

By the time I'd had my fill, all that remained of my former companion was bones, inedible organs, and fur. I even ate his testicles, for the sake of another delicacy somewhere.

It was sometime after my horrible actions now. I was staring at his remains, while finishing the last piece of his heart, and I started to notice something new about the radio loop.

Three Dog changed it. The plague had been dealt with, and food was being distributed at Rivet City, just on the horizon.

**Edn.**

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**In some cultures, eyeballs are a delicacy (sheep eyeballs come to mind). I've never tried them before, but Bear Grylls has.**

**Also, raw goat testicle is a delicacy in some cultures, too. I haven't tried that either, but... yeah, Bear Grylls has.**

**It's pretty messed up, I think. Still, say whatever you like. In that situation, you'd likely do the same.**


End file.
